Ansel and Greta
by skwirelygurli
Summary: Austin tries to be a good father. Auslly.


**Ansel and Greta, an Austin and Ally oneshot**

**I do not own Austin and Ally. Sorry it took so long to respond to this prompt, but please enjoy!**

The coffee tastes like burnt water, but he takes another swig. There's no way he can make it to the recording studio without it. He got up with baby Ansel, at a quarter to three this morning. Difference is, Ansel, after great coercing, and one impromptu lullaby, fell asleep.

He stayed up, perfecting that lullaby.

If he can get through one take of singing it, he'll call it a miracle. He's dead exhausted. Life would be so much easier without a newborn at home.

He realizes four years later, when the child has learned the art of arguing, that he was wrong. Ever so much.

"I don't want to go to bed." The moon is out, along with the stars, and Ansel is counting them. He can never get past five.

"You've got to go to bed, Annie. Your mother is not going to like it if she finds you still awake when she gets home from the studio." He takes the plate from in front of him, wondering why he agreed to chocolate cake this late, knowing it would give him a sugar high. Ally won't like that either.

"Don't call me that. It's a girl's name."

He's changing the subject. This kid is too sly for his own good.

This time he makes it to six. Then the headlights from the driveway illuminate the sky.

He climbs into bed, closing his eyes, pretending to sleep. His father smirks.

When Ally comes in, she pulls the covers over his shoulders, kisses him on the forehead. They exhale in relief. They've managed to pull it off.

As she's exiting the room, she turns. "No more late night snacks, okay?"

She always knows his dirty little secrets.

Just like how she knows that he gave him ice cream for nearly forgetting to pick him up after soccer practice.

He had been at the studio, mentoring a new band. They'd hit it off, and he had invited them out for coffee (he was getting used to the taste). So they went out, and he glanced at the clock, noting that the front number was a six, not a five. His eyes have been steadily decreasing in strength these past few years.

He'd sped through a school zone, swerved to avoid hitting a rolling garbage can, and parked in two spaces, making it only fifteen minutes late.

Ansel, who had been waiting with his coach, ran up to him.

"Mom's not going to be happy with you."

He hands him an ice cream cone, cracked under the pressure of his hand. It had started to melt on the drive over.

If he was going to be late, he might as well have a good reason. Ice cream is a good reason, right?

"Thought you might want an after practice snack." Ansel nods, unable to respond with a mouth full of sprinkles.

They come home to dinner, and when he claims he isn't hungry, that he already ate, Austin smiles sheepishly. She's laid down the law about dessert before dinner.

Looks like he broke the law. (And not just about the school zone speeding, as everyone's done it.)

Looks like he'll need punishment.

Why is she so against the idea of fuzzy handcuffs?

Not that unkinked intercourse isn't fantastic. He swears it is as his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he prays to whatever force is out there that their son can't hear them over the sound of cartoons.

In about nine months time, another member joins the family. They name her Margaret, but he calls her Greta.

"Can I hold her?" He holds his eight year old arms up, reaching for his sister.

Austin nervously looks to his wife, who nods. "Sit down first Ansel."

Sitting in the hospital chair, Dez, the honorary uncle, laughs.

"Look, it's Ansel and Greta." He laughs loudly, waking the baby. The other occupants of the room glare at him. "Get it, like Hansel and Gretel? Really guys?"

Trish whacks him. "We get it you doof. But you woke the baby."

The baby never seems to sleep soundly, as they quickly learn. They live on a busy street corner. The car horns blare, Greta like a siren in response.

Coffee becomes a necessity.

They share his lullaby, and he adds a verse, just for her. It's back on top of the music charts.

Right now, the only thing he wants to be on top of is his bed, fast asleep. Having children is so exhausting. He can't think straight anymore.

He walks into the grocery store for diapers and eggs. He walks out with eggs, some fancy cheese they had been giving samples of, and crackers. (Because one cannot have cheese without crackers when it's two in the morning and you can't sleep after changing a diaper.)

Drat, he forgot the diapers.

"Austin, where are you? Greta's in her last clean diaper, and she looks like she's about to go." Her voice comes through the car speakers, and he rolls up the windows. No need to repeat what happened last time.

_'I love you.'_

_'What was that? I can't hear you. It's really loud here.'_

_'I love you!' he had screamed. The motorcyclist next to him honked back in appreciation, gave a creepy smile._

He flicks his blinker on, waits for the light to turn green.

"I forgot the diapers. I had to go back. I'll be home in five minutes," He says that he loves her, and thankfully, no mystery cyclists highjack his emotions.

Parking the car, he races to bring her the diapers. He trips over a Lego block, and the eggs go flying. Broken yolks flood the floor.

"Ansel!" He's told him time and again to pick up his toys. Time and again, he's ignored him.

He doesn't start listening until puberty sets in. Then he has questions, loads of them.

"Dad, how did you know Mom was the one?" He's all of fourteen years old, voice cracking periodically.

"She makes me feel like no one else does. When our hands touch, or she sings, or laughs. A lot of girls wanted to be with me for what I am. She wanted to be with me for who I am." He leans forward in his chair. "Why?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Lola asked me to the spring dance. We've been friends forever, but I don't know if I like her like that."

"It took me years to figure out my feelings for your father. You're still young; you have time." Ally sets a tray of fresh baked cookies on the table. He grabs for one, and she swats his hand away.

"I ate dinner."

"They're for my friends in book club. They're coming over tonight, remember?"

Of course. She wrote it on the calendar, just like everything else he needs to remember. Like his first day of senior year.

That was the year he asked him the worst question of all.

"Dad, when did you and Mom first, uh, y'know, do it?"

"Do what?" Greta looks up from her math homework to see her father turn a rather rosy shade of red.

They move the conversation outside, walking into the sun. He squints at his son.

"Are you considering sex with Mirabelle?" They've been together for six months, since Lola moved across the country to Seattle. They've been pretty inseparable.

"I don't know. All the guys are doing it with their girls."

"We waited until we were married. That's what your mother wanted. I'm not going to tell you not to do it, but it needs to be a decision by both of you. You only lose your virginity once. Make sure it's with someone special, okay?" He hadn't wanted to wait, but he respected her wishes. And all these years later, they're still going strong.

His son however, that hit rocky waters.

Lola came to visit the following year, looking into local colleges.

That night she popped his cherry.

Er, peeled his banana.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

For telling him to wait for someone special. Mirabelle was a great girl, but when he saw the gleam in her eyes, it had to be this girl. The girl who wanted who, not what, he is.

She opts to go to school in Washington.

His heart breaks into five million pieces.

"It's tough, but if you love her, you'll get through it." He'd survived touring without Ally, who had kept watch over the kids at home. She'd survived when the situation was reversed.

This year they go on tour together, leaving Greta home with her brother. She's a teenager now, and when he returns home to find the house cleaned, spotless, he begins to wonder.

He can not find a red cup anywhere.

"Don't worry, I didn't have any parties while you were gone." She can read his mind like her mother.

"The house looks great."

"Does this mean that I can throw a party this weekend?"

Kids are always wanting things. Take, take, but when do they ever give?

He finds the answer two years later, after he's paid for a one way ticket to the west coast, that sometimes they do give things.

Like the gift of life. The baby latches onto his finger, and takes his grandson in his arms. He has his grandmother's eyes.

Ansel sings the lullaby, lulling the baby to sleep. Maybe life is tough, balancing work and family. Maybe he should have a line of caffeine shot into his bloodstream.

But one thing is for certain.

He loves his life. His busy, confusing, frustrating life.

No maybe about it.


End file.
